


Lose Count

by Blitzindite



Series: The V'ehsz Legacy [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cybernetics, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Zakuul (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25296847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blitzindite/pseuds/Blitzindite
Summary: One, after another, after another and another—it was easy to lose count. The battles, the tears, the dying breaths and blaster burns and shrapnel scars. He’d counted every day. He wished he’d lost count a long time ago.
Series: The V'ehsz Legacy [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862341
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Lose Count

**Author's Note:**

> [sam-grey asked: I'm thinking 111 with Varrich?](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/post/623762926268989440/lose-count)  
> 111: "I'm getting tired of wounds that will never heal."  
> -  
> KOTFE Varrich (he’s not the Outlander, and was instead eventually recruited to the Alliance for my writing; this is probably not long before the chapter where Outlander meets the new Havoc). Varrich pronounced “VEHR-rick”  
> [Varrich's design (pre-cybernetics)](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/post/623386661517164544/varrichs-turn-d-his-tattoos-are-a-pain-but)  
> [and post-cybernetics](https://blitzindite.tumblr.com/post/623483537261314048/i-havent-done-anything-remotely-angsty-for-a-long)

One, after another, after another and another—it was easy to lose count. More battles than anyone could keep track of anymore, the years stretched on and jumped ahead in strange ways, and to think he’d started his career as nothing more than a teenage resistance fighter who got a lucky break. Sometimes he still wondered how different things would be for him if he’d never been recruited for Havoc Squad.

A spark, a flinch, tool thrown down with a curse before he pinched the bridge of his nose. The fingers on the prosthetic arm curled into a fist and locked that way. The spark made his left eye short out, the infrared surging in nauseating ways. He could only think to turn it off and close his other eye while he waited for the dizziness to subside.

“Xabon says you’re having trouble.” A statement, not a question, as the owner of the voice approached. Jorgan. Five years, and he’d still know that voice anywhere. Varrich could have sworn he hadn’t even been in the camp a moment ago, but there he was.

“Turns out swamps aren’t gentle on poorly made cybernetics. Who knew?” Varrich muttered with a shake of the head. When he opened his eye, the Cathar was kneeling to grab the tool he’d thrown. At least it didn’t seem damaged.

Wiping the mud from the device, Jorgan passed it back. “Should let someone else work on it, sir—you should be trying to rest. We only got you back a few days ago.”

“Havoc needs to focus on its mission.” Not that he knew what their mission was. They’d been keeping it hush-hush around him, though he wouldn’t blame them. As far as they were concerned, Varrich seemed practically back from the dead after being assumed KIA for years. Whatever the mission, he was just grateful it had brought Havoc back to Zakuul after so many years. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to get out the Spire—hell, even just Breaktown—without their help.

Silence fell between them as Varrich kept working on picking the much from the arm’s joints and reconnecting things that had been damaged in his escape from Breaktown. At one point, Jorgan got up and left for a while, then eventually returned with clean water and rations.

“Once we’re off Zakuul, we’ll get you somewhere to have a proper arm built and fix anything else you need,” the Cathar said as he passed food and drink to Varrich.

“Anything’s better than this piece of sithspit.” He hit the tool over the arm for a resounding _clang_ before taking the offered items. “Never thought I’d miss military rations.” Sure, they were nothing special, but they were helluva lot better than anything he’d been given over the last few years.

Jorgan frowned as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hard stare watching the swamp beyond their camp. “We really did look for you, sir. When we realized your body wasn’t…” He shook his head. “When we couldn’t find a sign, the Republic ordered us back. Held a service even without a body.”

Varrich tried to smile, to reassure the other man. He really did. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Not anymore. Not after so many years.

He still remembered that fight so…vividly. Like it had happened only days ago. He wouldn’t even call it a battle. Wouldn’t dare. Couldn’t. They’d been in over their heads. Havoc hadn’t been ready. Not for Zakuul.

The explosion that separated him from the rest of the team had thrown him off the Spire. He vaguely remember Yuun lunging out of the way before the Gand could be taken down with him, remembered hitting the railing hard enough for the wind to be knocked out of him, crashing through it, falling from a height no one should have survived from. He’d hit something— _hard_ —on his way down and…that was it. He’d lost consciousness right there, could only assume it was a passing speeder (speeders?) that had broken his fall.

Just thinking of it made his jaw clench and fingers start rubbing at the uneven edges of his cybernetics. They’d been in over their heads and it was a wonder _any_ of them had survived.

“…Why _are_ you back on Zakuul?”

“That’s not your concern right now. You need to worry about recovering, first.”

Varrich huffed at that.

More silence, hanging like a thick smog between them. It was practically tangible with how much they each wanted to ask so many things at once. Neither did.

Not until Varrich was finally eating (forcefully pacing himself so he wouldn’t choke), did Jorgan speak again.

“Your enhancements. Were any of them even necessary?”

“No.” He leaned back, looked up into the canopy of trees, to the sky far beyond their twisted branches. “…Some of them.”

“Only some..?”

A shrug. It was all he wanted to offer. “I know you mean well, but I’d rather just leave it at that.”

“Of course, sir.” Jorgan’s eyes turned to the human female of the squad—Kanner. She was giving orders to the others. She seemed like she’d be a good leader someday, from what Varrich had seen of her so far. “Just… Havoc’s here for you. It may not be the Havoc you knew, the one you led, but we’re still Havoc Squad.”

Varrich wouldn’t look to his companion. He…wasn’t sure he’d even want to return to Havoc. Not permanently. He wanted nothing to do with the Republic or the Sith Empire anymore. He just wanted the Eternal Throne brought down. After that…

After that, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“I just want all the damn war to end.” He leaned his head back against the crumbling stone wall behind him, maybe just a little harder than he should have. Only his messy ponytail acting as a cushion kept him from bruising his own skull. “I’m tired of watching people get hurt. I’m tired of _being_ hurt.”

“Sir?”

He started rubbing at his arm again, scuffed a boot through the but—then crossed his arms to close himself off from anything further. Despite his frown deepening, Jorgan seemed to get the hint. “Just… Come to me if you need anything,” he said as he stood, then went off to talk to Kanner.

Varrich let his eye close with a sigh.

One, after another, after another and another—it was easy to lose count. The battles, the tears, the dying breaths and blaster burns and shrapnel scars. The days that had ticked by while he was given one cybernetic after another. He’d counted every day that he was awake; counted the beeps of the machines; counted every time of his new, sithspit enhancements sparked to burn him or he’d shown aggression and received a shock for it. He wished he’d lost count a long time ago.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t.


End file.
